Scars Cannot Make Me Love You Less
by AmTheDreamer
Summary: She was fast, pulling the top down with her left hand just as he pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. But she wasn't fast enough, and she heard her father gasp in horror at the look of her back. / David helps Emma to take off her sweater after breaking her arm and sees the countless scars on her back. Daddy!Charming at its full force.


**I got a prompt from McDag who asked for Charming helping Emma dress and seeing some old scars. I started writing it for my collection of one-shots (_Happy Endings Start With Hope_) but it got totally out of hand and this thing came out. So I decided to post it as a stand-alone piece.**

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><p><strong>Scars Cannot Make Me Love You Less<strong>

"I fucking hate life," Emma muttered under her breath. She sat on the old sofa placed in her glass office at the station. At first she sat at her table trying to do some paperwork, but with her right hand wrapped tightly in a white cast all she could do was stare at the pen and try to will it to move on its own. Needless to say it didn't work at all. And after a few moments her father walked into the office and took all of her paperwork saying he'd take care of it all, sending her to sit on the sofa and relax.

"You hurt your hand badly Em. And if I can't win the fight to make you stay at home the least I can do is fill in your paperwork for you while you rest," he had said.

She let out a sigh. She hated everything right now. And to top it all it seemed like Storybrooke was going through the hottest day in the history of days. Why did she choose to wear that thick sweater over her top again?

She shook her head, slowly getting up to her feet. She needed to lose the sweater as soon as possible or she was going to melt right then and there. She gave a quick glance at her father, sitting outside her office in front of his desk and writing down what looked like a serious report. Well this was going to be a fun thing to try.

Ever since Whale put her in that stupid cast she was having trouble functioning. At home it was a bit easier. She made sure to eat food that didn't require a fork or a knife seeing as she didn't have her dominant hand available to use, and her mother helped her into shirts and pants after she managed to struggle into her underwear and bra. But at the station… Well, she was going to have to try losing the sweater on her own.

She tilted her head in a weird angle, her left hand gently tugging at the hem of the sweater as she tried to free her right hand from the sleeve. Soon enough she found herself lost inside the sweater turning around in circles. Oh god.

She let out a sigh. Here goes nothing. "Uhh… Dad?"

She knew she was blushing but thanked god he couldn't see her face inside the sweater. She heard him chuckle lightly as he opened the door and stepped inside.

"Aren't you a little too old to play peek-a-boo?" he teased.

"Very funny," she growled, "help me out of this stupid thing?"

"Sure princess".

She felt as he placed his hands gently on her back, pulling at the sweater. Soon enough her right hand was freed and he proceeded to pull it completely over her hand, not paying too much attention as the top underneath it rolled up a little bit, uncovering her back.

She was fast, pulling the top down with her left hand just as he pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. But she wasn't fast enough, and she heard her father gasp in horror at the look of her back.

She wanted to run and hide under her bed. In fact, she felt like even getting out of the station would help her. But David was stronger than her. In less than a second, her father had a firm grip on her healthy hand, keeping her in place. His other hand gently pulled at her top, uncovering her back once again so he could look at it better.

"Emma?" he asked gently, cold fingers going over a long white stripe going from her right side to her left.

She started shaking almost instantly. Just hearing the pain in his voice sent her to tears. "I…" she tried, lost for words.

His fingers went over her back, following scars she could name without seeing. The long stripes, the perfectly round circles… She knew them all by heart, remembered the pain they caused, both physically and mentally. They just stood there in silence. Every once in a while she tried to move, pull out of his grip and run away, but as gently as his hand was over hers, he held firmly, not intending to let her go.

"Emma?" he repeated, suddenly turning her around and holding her firmly in front of him. Her eyes dropped instantly to look at the floor. But he didn't let go that easily. His fingers, same cold ones that explored those ugly scars not moments ago, rose to her chin and pushed it up, forcing eye contact.

The moment blue eyes met same blue eyes, ones that reflected age and worry, tears started falling and she just couldn't stop. "You weren't supposed to see that," she said quietly, shaking her head aggressively as if trying to shake away memories.

"You don't have to hide anything from me Emma," he gave her an answer, looking as deep into her eyes as he could.

"It hurts you," she responded, sounding much like the little girl he once lost, all those years ago.

"The hurt I feel Emma, is nothing compared to what you must have felt during your stay with the one responsible for all of those". He pulled her behind him, leading her to the sofa where they sat one in front the other. His fingers brushed gently against her face, wiping away her tears.

"Not one," she whispered.

He leaned closer, a question in his eyes. "Not one?"

Emma shook her head slowly. "There's not one person responsible. It's a common responsibility. Of about three foster fathers and two foster mothers".

She sniffed, letting herself be pulled against his chest in a tight hug. "Oh, baby".

He held her tight for a few moments, as long as she let him in fact, before pulling back and looking at him with a shy smile. "I'm sorry".

"No," he replied firmly, "I'm sorry. Do you think you could tell me what happened princess? You don't have to if it's too much".

She shook her head at his last words. "I want to tell you," she promised in a whisper barely audible, "but I don't want to hurt you like that. I don't want to make you feel guilty".

"I'm partly guilty," he gave her a smile of his own, "and it doesn't matter how I feel. Because what's important is that you feel better, that you feel like you don't have to hide any part of yourself in fear of us rejecting you. Tell me, Emma".

She nodded, wiping at her tears with her left palm. She took a deep breath, and started. "Foster care is a tricky business," she said with a bitter laugh. "You win or you lose. Some families go into the system in true desire to help children who didn't have luck in their lives. During my stays at group homes between foster families, I got to watch young children find great families. I watched as young couples adopted picture perfect kids, and I always felt that pang in my heart at the knowledge that by the age of ten I would already be too old. I had luck with my first family. The Swans held to me until I was three, and I actually let myself hope after they'd sent me back. I held to that hope until I was six, and then, when I finally started creating clear memories, I had a terrible family. From that kind that only gets into the foster system in order to get that pay check each kid brought with them".

She felt David's grip tighten around her wrist as she continued. "He was a drunk, she was just generally disgusting. She was really angry at him, and she always let it out on me and my foster brother. He was a bit older, and eventually he ran away, but I was left there to suffer. He was the first one to blame. He used to get angry at me for stupid things, like having a nightmare or waking up thirsty in the middle of the night. I learnt pretty fast what was forbidden, but I learnt it the hard way. He used to light a cigarette just so he could put it out on my back, his special way of educating, instead of spanking. He did it eventually almost every night. Drank his arse off and lit up a cigarette calling me and telling me I was a bad girl".

Tears went down her face once she noticed her father was openly crying in front of her. She knew she would hurt him, she shouldn't have said anything.

"Go on," he said gently, so she did.

"I was sent out from that family when a social worker came for a surprise visit. She saw him drunk and she took me with her that same day. I was immediately put in a different family and this one had around five kids already living there. And as a welcome one of the kids told me to be careful not to breathe too loudly next to the foster mother. She had a good hand with a belt is what they said. And it didn't take more than twenty four hours for me to discover how good she was with it. It didn't matter what I did. Whenever she thought it was wrong I was not given any dinner and she gave me the belt until my back and butt bled. And if I cried, I just earned myself some more hits".

She got up, turned to her table and grabbed her water bottle, pushing it in her father's direction. With a worried look she went on. "I had a break for four months then. I was placed in two group homes, and group homes usually meant at least one nice volunteer. But group homes never last long, and after four months I was placed in one of the worst families. The mother used the cigarette trick I was already familiar with while the father used the belt and other sharp objects on both the butt and the back if the cigarettes didn't do enough. At that point I was already a bit older, so I didn't let them get away with it easily. I tried to always protect the younger kids, sneaking away food for them when they were sent to our room without dinner, stepping in front of the parents when they meant to hit or burn. But it didn't work well for me, and I was soon their favourite target. I found myself losing weight as I only got dinner three times a week most of the weeks, and I was hit and burnt nonstop. That lasted for five months before I got out of there".

She didn't want to go on anymore. It was too much. She placed a hand on her father's shoulder. "It went on. Until I ran away from the system when I was sixteen. But it was already too late. When I was sent to jail I had to go through a check-up. The doctor that saw me was sure I had all those marks because I was a drug addict who got into trouble, but after he read my files he just looked at me like I was some charity case. And then he told me it was never going to heal. I was going to be the girl with the ugly side forever".

David was now frantically shaking his head at her, trying to gain his composure back. "I can never be sorry enough Emma. I love you so much. You mother and I both do. You're the most important person in our lives and we can never express how sorry we are that we had to put you through this hell growing up".

She gave her father a tiny smile, wrapping her left hand around him in a hug. "It's fine Dad, you're here now. And this is all in the past".

She felt him nod against her shoulder. "I'm still sorry Emma. And I hope that you know now, that you don't have to ever, ever again hide anything from me or your mother. You're who you are, and we want to get to know you. We want to know every good memory you have, and we love creating some new ones with you, but we also need to know about the bad ones, the ones that hurt you both physically and mentally, because even though it hurts more than death probably does, it's part of who you are. And we are here to help you through all of the pain and misery".

Emma nodded before pulling away. "I know Dad, I promise," she whispered, leaning in and pacing a soft kiss to his cheek. "I know, and I love you too".

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><p><strong>Tell me what you think? It only takes a second and it makes my life better!<strong>


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